


You, Me, & Us

by celestial_light



Series: You, Me, & Us [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Medical Trauma, Post-Order 66 (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestial_light/pseuds/celestial_light
Summary: When his inhibitor chip malfunctions, Sinker finds himself stationed on an Imperial Star Destroyer, tasked with experimenting on captured Jedi for the purpose of researching their Force count.His current subject: Former General Plo Koon.
Relationships: Boost & Plo Koon, CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe, Plo Koon & Sinker, Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Series: You, Me, & Us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132328
Comments: 13
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! Or almost New Year. I've been wanting to post this for a while. tw for medical horror/trauma. It's a happy ending though! I'm my own beta, so there's gonna be mistakes. Also, say hey to me on [tumblr](https://myinkandtrees.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> If you like it, give me a kudos and/or comment! They motivate me XD

Sinker comes back to himself in between the threshold of the holding cell back to the medical wing of the Star Destroyer he’s currently stationed on. It’s like the worst migraine of his life, so much so that it stills him in his tracks. With a hand braced against the smooth wall, the former clone sergeant groans deeply as the pain radiates through his temple, all the way to the back of his skull. 

He crouches low, precisely aware of the bright fluorescent lights bouncing off of the pristine steel floors beneath him. It’s nauseating, and he clamps his eyes  _ shut  _ just to shield his eyes from the blinding rays. It does little, and the nausea blossoms in his stomach. Out of instinct, he smashes a hand to his mouth as his gut wretches, and immediately is assaulted with the taste of something putrid and acridic, seeping through the gaps of his fingers. 

_ What...the...hell… _

It’s not vomit--at least not his. And upon further inspection, he takes note of the black and yellow-ish liquid staining his white gloves, the substance extending up to the fabric of his elbow. 

“Trooper, is everything alright?” Despite the question, there is little concern behind the harsh, Coruscanti accent. It sounds like General Kenobi on a bad day, and with great effort the Sergeant draws his gaze away from his hand, and to the man standing squarely above him. 

He looks through crescent lids, the halo of light behind the officer agitating his growing migraine. 

“Trooper, I asked if everything was alright. You are needed in the medical wing, those samples need analyzing now.” There is growing agitation in the man’s voice, tight lipped tone indicating that he is on an even tighter schedule, “the junior researchers have not seen you for the past fifteen minutes.” 

Still, the clone cannot speak or will himself to move.

It’s all too much. Suddenly he was a drone, a mindless trooper just following orders. Now he is Sinker. 

He must have looked like a spectacle, dry heaving on the ground and avoiding the light like some sort of vampire. 

“I thought your kind couldn’t get sick.” Disdain still evident, there’s a tone of curiosity in the man’s voice as he inclines forward, his blond hair and beard coming into view. He certainly isn’t a clone, but Sinker knew that already. 

Even with his body and mind stolen from him for the past...what? 10 years? 15? 20? He’s been afforded bits and pieces of information, past the “initiate Order 66” past the “Good Soldiers follow orders”, Sinker has weaved a net of sparse information together.

He’s in the Empire, the Jedi are all gone, killed by him and his brothers, and he’s a medic again. That explains the liquid on his arms, but  _ what  _ was it? And why did it taste like that? It's non-human, that’s for certain. But  _ why _ ? The Empire doesn’t employ non-humans, do they? 

And certainly not Kel Dor. 

Time stops for Sinker in that moment, and not even the white noise of the ship registers to him. Nor, unfortunately, the officer above him growing clearly more and more agitated with him. The substance on his arm--the  _ blood  _ literally on his hands--captivates his conscious. He knows this blood. He knows it very well. Has tended to it on the battlefield, has washed it from his armour after his General had thrown himself atop of him, had watched in horror as it had oozed out after the General had taken a rather nasty shot to his side. 

This is Kel Dor blood on one hand. In the other--Sinker looks, and bites his tongue as he staves off the sharp wave of nausea--is the sample.

“You must be going absolutel--”

Sinker rises with the grace of a still mind-controlled clone, masking the absolute horror building in his gut as to not tip the officer in front of him off. 

“Apologies sir. I had a bad reaction to a gas from one of the subjects lungs. A bit too much helium.” He lies, inclining his head forward as he excuses himself, “Won’t happen again.” He brushes past the man, previous schedule melding with his conscience. 

Things begin to come back to him like building blocks. Where he is. What he’s doing--what he has been doing. It’s all coming back. But this time, he has control. 

He needs to analyze the sample--brain tissue. Scan it for midichlorian counts, see if it can be liquidized and transferred to others--to humans. This will take him about three hours. Then he will take his break, eat in the mess hall, and return to the subject to collect another sample. Only today he will skip his lunch, see his subject earlier, and board the nearest ship and get the  _ hell  _ away from here. 

He’ll get himself out. He’ll get his General out, and if he’s lucky get his brothers out too. But he doesn't know if they’ve been freed like he’s been, if they’ve gotten back to themselves, or if the Chancellor's orders are still ringing in their heads. 

He doesn’t even know who’s on the ship. Who’s still in the Empire or who deserted. 

\--

The work is completed mechanically, and despite being thrown into the midst of a shit-show, his memory continued to trickle in the gaps. Every new revelation is another punch to the gut. In summary he was promoted to the head medic of the Star Destroyer, which for all intents and purposes is primarily a research vessel. Though the weaponry and guarded halls say otherwise. 

Sinker was a medical sergeant during the war, often making split second decisions to save his brothers and his General, as well as starting the first encyclopedia of medical field treatment across species. While Plo was his primary General, he’d opted on missions with the 501st and had often worked his way around Commander Tano’s complicated biology. Following that, he and the others had gotten together to come up with a rather large encyclopedia of their alien Generals and Commanders. And on his offtime, Sinker studied it like a hungry dog. 

The Empire had put him to work immediately, his knowledge of Force sensitives aliens used on captured Jedi. 

The Empire was trying to create a new army of force sensitives, trying to see if the Force could be transplanted into individuals. Sinker was tasked with making the concoction, and led the project since the rise of the Empire. 

  
He’s the most brilliant researcher in the Empire, but his research stands on the bodies of captured Jedi. 

He’s gotten good enough so that he has his own lab, but junior nat-born researchers are stationed everywhere, wide eyed students studying  _ his  _ samples, asking  _ him  _ questions. He takes note that none are clones. And a small part of him fears he’s the only one left on the station. 

Still he answers the researchers questions, comments on their work, and offers them input when he can. Anything to appear normal, to appear kept together. To steady his shaking hands and throbbing heart and aching head. 

When his three hours are up, he makes a beeline to the holding cell, dismissing invites from other researchers to lunch with a smile and the typical, “You know how I feel about my work.” They laugh and call him a workaholic, and Sinker wants to cry at the irony of the situation. If all goes well, he won’t be working here. 

Not anymore. 

When he gets to the cell, he’s greeted by the plain white armour of two stormtroopers, inclining his head as a quick greeting before punching in the keycode. 

“It’s popular in there, today.” The trooper jokes, just as he steps in, “Looks like a family reunion.”

But before Sinker can say a word, the door zips closed behind him. He’s too tired to linger on what was said for longer than necessary, though one look at the scene unfolding before him tells him he doesn’t have to. 

  
  


He’s met immediately with the sound of shuffling and cursing. 

“How the hell did he get him stuck on here? I don’t want to pull him off, it may hurt him.” That sounds like--

“Wolffe! At the door, it’s Sinker!” And that’s certainly Boost, quick to concern and worry as usual. 

Elation is too small of a word to describe the emotions that run through him. Because before him are his brothers--Wolffe and Boost, alive in well, albeit rather agitated and flustered at being caught attempting to remove Plo from his binds. 

Though the elation is short lived. 

  
He can’t see the General, and part of him is grateful for that. But it’s only temporary, he’ll have to face his fears if he wants to undo Plo from his binds. He’ll have to face what  _ he  _ did to the man if he wants to save him. It’s no simple lock, and Sinker is the only one who can undo it. Not only that, but Wolffe is right, removing him may hurt him. Sinker did not create the medical bed with the intent of comfort. Plo is--was--an experiment to him, and up until now believed to be a traitor. He treated him accordingly. 

“Boost, Wolffe, it’s--”   
  


He doesn’t get the word out, as a fist immediately connects to his uncovered head. 

And unlike the other two, he’s not wearing armour. Sinker staggers, but draws on his years of combat training and exercise. He may be a researcher now, but he can outfight Wolffe and Boost on any given day, armoured or not. He’s always been the superior fighter, and he’s taken a lot worse than a sneak attack from Wolffe and Boost. 

  
It’s messy and too long, but within a minute he has Wolffe under one arm, and a knee to Boosts’s backgrounding hm in place 

“You two need to stop, or they’ll  _ hear  _ us and we’ll never be able to get him,” he whispers, low. 

“Sinker...you’re..you’re free?” Boost gasps, “How-when?”

“We’ll catch up later, but I'll need to report back to the lab in under an hour. We need to get him loose now.”

Sinker releases them, and Wolffe gasps for breath while Boost groans in pain. He’ll apologize later, but for now the General’s life is at stake. With urgency he turns to the back of the cell, where his General stands attached to an upright medical bed, bound to it with metal braces. Sinker gasps, and with every step he takes towards him fights the urge to scream and run. 

The General is lacking all color, and where he was once a healthy burnt orange, he is now a mix of white and greys. The white extends to his half-lidded eyes, which are now dull and near unseeing, and absent of their protective goggles. Throughout his body are large, thick metal piercings. Used to keep the Force at bay in particularly strong, Force sensitives. Sinker had invented them himself, and remembers with great accuracy the care he took into placing them in his General’s body. 

They will need to be removed when he gets him off of the station. 

There are scars and bandages all over his body, burn marks and more discoloration. The newest scar is above his temple, where Sinker took the brain sample from earlier that day. Sinker isn’t even aware that the soft tips of his fingers have brushed over the scar, tracing it gently as his eyes begin to sting with tears. 

It’s still raw, and the bandage is yellow with blood.

Sinker doesn’t apologize, lest he break into violent sobs there. Rather he inputs the code into the keypad, bracing himself for his General’s body as it falls forward. When he embraces the taller creature, he takes note of how thin he is, how  _ light  _ he is. As their General, Plo Koon had been strong and sturdy. Even with his thick robes and gowns, his strength positively radiated off of him. The General took care of himself. 

Sinker had ruined him in a matter of years. 

The holding cell is not a generic one. And due to his position as head researcher, Sinker has made it a point to move certain medical supplies into the cell should he need access them. He thanks the Force that he’s left a wheelchair. Even with Plo’s height, it’s easy to settle him down into the chair, and Sinker straps him to it by the arms and waist. Then Sinker takes a glance over at his vitals, displayed on the screen. 

  
The General is sleeping, now. Or, more correctly, had passed out during the removal of his brain tissue. He’ll wake later. And he’ll wake in pain. 

Sinker takes an injection from one of the trays, and winces at how large and sharp the needle is. Unfortunately there’s no getting around the General’s incredibly thick skin, and even in the Clone wars, penetrating it was an uphill battle. 

Though at the sight of an injection, Wolffe is summoned to his side. 

  
“What are you doing with that?” His former Commander speaks as he places a hand over Sinker’s, ready to fight the man again if he has to. 

“It’s to keep him sleeping, Wolffe. He’ll wake up if I don’t give it to him, and he’ll be in pain.” Sinker jerks his arm away, and sticks the general with the needle. Part of Sinker is hurt...hurt that Wolffe can’t trust him. Hurt that he thinks he’d do anything to harm his General of his own accord. Hurt that he can’t understand that it’s not Sinker’s fault. That he was under control of someone or something else. 

The Kel Dor makes no indication that he’s been stuck, and instead his unseeing, half lidded eyes look forward into the distance. 

“We need to put his goggles on, right? Do you know where they are, Sinker?” Boosts asks as he looked around. 

  
“Yeah, I do.” He says flatly, wondering if at all he’ll be able to justify giving his test subject goggles or any other form of comfort, “they’re in that cabinet over there.”

Wolffe wastes no time in snapping them on the General’s face. All the while Sinker gets what medical supplies he can from the cell, and makes a note to collect more in the lab. Where there going will likely  _ not  _ be a medical facility, and if they’re going to keep Plo alive, they’ll have to make do with what they have. 

“We’ll need to stop by the lab.” Sinker says aloud, “I just need a few more things and we can get out of here, assuming we make it to the platform without being caught or stopped with a test subject.”

Now it’s Wolffe’s turn to sound guilty, and a dark blush colors his face, “That..shouldn’t be a problem?”

“Why? Buddy buddy with the General or something?”

“I  _ am  _ the General, Sinker.” He admits, raising a hand when Sinker makes to ask more, “It’s a long story. The Empire promoted those of us who were good on the battlefield to Generals, me included. Do what you need to do, and I’ll keep the other officers off of your tail until we’re ready to leave. But make it quick, because I have to check in with the navy in less than an hour. And If any of these brown nosers tip the Empire off that Plo’s missing, there’ll be an all out mutiny.” 

“Nat-borns aren’t as loyal as we were,” Boost fills in, tapping his fingers on his biceps, “and aren’t happy about having to listen to a clone. They’ve been trying to take Wolffe down since he first got promoted.”

“You can tell them I gave the order to move him to the lab for another procedure. You take it from there--Boost, we need to get out. Get ready.” Wolffe commands, “I’ll meet you in landing bay seven in thirty minutes. Do  _ not  _ be late.” 

Wolffe leaves with Boost in tail, leaving Sinker alone with more questions than answers. 

Below him, General Plo is limp. Though his pulse is steady and his heart beating fast. He’s alive. He’s safe. Wolffe is alive, Boost is alive, safe. They’re all safe. 

With luck, they can keep it that way. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished! I apologize in advance for the errors. I am the only beta and I only go through it once XD please tell me what you think. Also feel free to chat with me on tumblr! I'm myinkandtrees.tumblr.com!
> 
> Also forgot to add that the clones age normally. They stopped aging "doubly" after they were drafted into the Empire.

Pain meds--lots of pain meds. Personal items. Confiscated items. Bacta. Protein. Portable Helium. Dorin gas. Vitamins. Food-the General can’t eat their food-Water--he’ll need a substitute, too much oxygen. All items Sinker stuffs life mad into a medium sized duffle bag, mentally inventorying as his eyes scan the medbay. 

_ What else? What else? More filters? _ He has them somewhere, in the--

“Clone? What on Earth are you doing with the subject out of its cell?”   
  
_ It’s a he, and his name is Plo,  _ nearly grits the Medic, though with practice poise, Sinker turns on his heel to greet the intruder. It’s the redhead from earlier, pale blue eyes and imperial blacks penetrating the white walls of the lab like a lifeless void. 

“There was a problem.” Sinker says simply, meeting the blue gaze with his own, “The subject needed to be removed.”

A red brow arches up to his Imperial cap. 

“And the Commander has authorized this?” 

“Yes.” Sinker replies too quickly, too clipped. His eyes dart to the duffle bag and then to state of disarray he’s left the medbay in. The redhead’s gaze follows too, and he meets Sinker’s eyes with a vicious sneer. 

All at once this man and his identity begin to fall into place. He is an ambitious thing, graduated top of his class from a pertisgies Coruscanti family. He currently holds the position of Lt. Commander on this space vessel, and is absolutely unhappy with the current commander and general of this vessel being former clone troopers. 

And his ambitions have been a thing of fury for Wolffe, like a forest fire nearly impossible to contain. Sinker recalls the many cycles this man has spent inspecting the crew, looking for the smallest detail, the smallest mishap to justify removing Wolffe from his command. 

“And why would the Commander authorize this? Knowing how dangerous this subject is?” He gestures to Plo, his glower growing. 

“I guess he just cares about the wellbeing of the General.”

Sinker says “fuck” in his mind, but he might as well have screamed it in the man’s face 

Rage bleeds to genuine shock, only for the rage to come back ten fold. 

  
“You...you...what’s your designation number, Trooper?”   
  


Sinker didn’t know his number when he was in the Clone Wars, and some twenty years later he certainly didn’t know it now. He’d made it a point to forget what the Kaminoains had forced him to have during the war. He was a name, not a number. 

But damn, would it help to remember those four digits now. 

“You’re aware! That’s why you were acting out! And if you are, that means the Com--”

_ Shit _ . 

Sinker moves without thinking. The duffle bag connects with the man’s head, followed by a left hook to his jaw. Redheads skull slams into a shelf, and Sinker brings a knee to his gut, efficiently knocking the air out of him. He finishes his combo with a stomp to the head. 

“Hold this, will ya?” He shoves the duffle on his General’s lap, and grabs the back of the wheelchair. There’s a small,  _ microscopic  _ movement below him. It looks--it looks like the general’s claws wrap around the bag, just slightly, securing the bag as Sinker makes his move. That, or it’s just Sinker’s mind playing tricks on him. 

He leaves the medbay with a pep in his step, gloved hands tight around his general’s chair. His thoughts cycle loudly, and concentration seems nearly impossible. 

It won’t be long now. The Redhead will wake, and will raise hell when he comes to. A part of Sinker desperately clings to the hope that he hit him hard enough to kill him. But blunt force was never his thing, especially not when used on a human.

He updates Wolffe of the situation as he edges his way into a lift, barring the door from the young ensign running to jump in with an apologetic smile. 

“You couldn’t just lie your way out of it? You _ had  _ to beat the guy up, didn’t you?”    
  


“Well I’m sorry he found me out! He asked me about my number.” Sinker admits, fingers tapping the handles of the chair. Anxiety snakes through his gut, wretched fingers tugging at his insides. 

There is a sigh from the other end of the comlink, audible even above Boost’s commentary in the back. 

“I get it, I get it.” Wolffe grumbles, and Sinker can practically  _ see  _ him running a hand through his hair, “Just get here, soon. When he wakes, this whole ship will go on lockdown.”’

“My ETA is about five minutes, Wolfee.” 

“Make it three.” 

“Not unless you want me to throw the general over my shoulder,” Sinker bites back, “And that will really cause suspicion.” 

Another sigh, followed by an all too familiar grumble. 

“I’ll send Boost to help,” Wolffe cuts him off with a rise in his voice before he can protest, “If this place does go on lockdown, you’ll need help getting yourself and the general out.” 

“Hear that general , we’re getting help.” Sinker says with little joy as his comm beeps off, grip tightening on the handles of the wheelchair as the lift continues to descend to the appropriate floor. He keeps replaying the past few moments in his head, all thoughts circling back to his scuffle in the medbay. 

Did he hit that man with enough force? Gods, he hoped he did. And if not to kill him, he hopes with all his being that he incapacitated him long enough to get he, his brothers,  _ and  _ his general to make it out in time. 

Each tap against the handle of the chair a second behind them, eventually spilling into a minute.

Soon, soon he would be there, soon he and his general would--

The elevator halts, the sudden jolt nearly throwing Sinker towards the ceiling. The lights shut off, and instantly both clone and general are caught in a blinking, dim, red overcast. 

Sinker’s breath catches in his throat. The station has been put on lockdown. 

_ Okay, don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Remember your training.  _

Immediately he draws a hand to his side, relief washing over him at the familiar feeling of the cool hilt of his blaster. At least he has  _ something _ he could use to protect himself. Now he turns towards the lift controls, pressing the release and cursing to himself when the door refuses to budge. 

“Great.” Sinker looks back towards his general, part of him hoping that the man had somehow managed to regain awareness, and that his control of the Force miraculously survived the torment he’d been put through. But the former was very unlikely, given the meds Sinker had put him on. There will be no Jedi help this time. 

Unless…

Sinker looks towards the duffle bag, recalling the items he’d placed in the sack in haste. Apart from emptying practically the entire medical shelf into the duffle, Sinker had also gotten personal items of the general that he’d confiscated years ago. 

Those personal items being his claw coverings, a spare mask, and..

“Lightsaber!” Sinker almost squeals, rushing towards the bag and fishing out the aged piece of metal. He takes a quick glance over, not allowing himself more time to admire the fine piece of work. If he survives this, maybe the general will let him see it. That is, if the general forgives him. 

He wouldn’t forgive him, and as he ignites the saber and bares the blade into the metal door, his mind drifts to what and where he’ll go next. After he saves the general, after he leaves the Empire. Sinker doubts he’ll stay past seeing the general to a secure medical facility. He doesn’t think he can. The guilt would be too much. 

  
He’ll make sure his brothers are okay too. Then he’ll leave for good. Wolffe may have been a General, and Boost a commander. But neither of them did what he did. 

Yelling and shouting jerk him from his melancholy, and when the circle he’s carved out of the durasteel falls and reveals a blinding group of about fifteen stormtroopers, Sinker doubts he’ll be leaving this lift at all. Still, like any good soldier, his hand goes immediately for his blaster at the same time theirs do, and unconsciously he lifts the saber in an attack position. 

He may not have ever used it, but he fought beside Plo enough to know how to swing it around. 

He just hopes that by some miracle he’ll be able to stave them off, and regardless of whether or not Plo is awake with him, he’s a Jedi. And sometimes all he needs is a Jedi for good luck. 

Just as their weapons lift towards him, three small grenades weave between their pristine white boots, and even in the blinking red light, Sinker hones in on them enough to know their blast will kill just about everyone outside of the lift, and maybe inside too. At that moment,  _ everyone  _ searches for cover. But those panicked enough to try to lift are met with the cool, blue blade of a lightsaber. They don’t have time to get their guns, and even with his saber trained at the entrance of the hole, Sinker has already pulled his general and him down towards the back of the lift. 

The blow is the best thing Sinker has heard since Commander Wolffe had informed them Count Doku had been killed. 

  
  


“Don’t just sit there, let’s go.” From the boost above him, covered in smoke and soot is Boost, a hand extended towards his brother, “There will be more.” 

He wants to jump up and embrace his brother. To run his hands through his now full head of red hair, but he doesn’t have the time. 

“Thanks for the save, cutting it a little close though.” Sinker takes Boost's hand, his comment just as serious as it was humorous. 

“Well just about every person on this station has their sights out for us. Apologies for trying to stay a--”   
  
“You two don’t have time to talk. Get the general and let’s get out.” Wolffe is just about at his wits end on the other line of the comm, his exasperation accompanied by blaster shots and yelling on the other end. 

Sinker gets Plo out of the lift with the assistance of Boost, and though they say little, there is a relief to having his brother so close to him. The casualness and comradery falls into place as if they hadn’t been mind controlled for more than twenty years. His heart aches at the missed time between he and his brothers.

\--

They make it to Wolffe in two minutes, Boost’s overall knowledge of the ship schematics getting them there free of injury, just in time to face off in Wolffe’s skirmish. A sea of white stands between them and their escape vessel. Wollfee is holding off the best he can with his dual blasters, but even he’s waned and clearly exhausted from holding his own for so long. 

Though Boost ends the battle with another well timed roll of grenades, practically emptying his bag until there’s none left. Boost and Sinker press forward the moment the grenades detonate, running in the wake of smoke and scorched metal. 

Sinker’s grip on the general's wheelchair never wavers until he’s safely up the ramp with Boost following in his wake. 

Not much is said between the three brothers. Wolffe has manned the helm while Boost prepares to fire weapons, and as usual, Sinker is by his commander, inputting coordinates to get them the hell out of there. 

General Plo is still silent, deep in a drug induced sleep, the medical droid overseeing his many injuries. 

\--

When they finally make the jump, Sinker practically deflates in his chair. Wolffe hangs his head in his hands, and a “FINALLY” can be heard from an equally exhausted and tired Boost. For a moment, neither man speaks, rather listens to the white silence around them. The various alerts on the ship, the beeping of the medical droid, the breathing of their general…

And then Boost is the first one to breach the silence, throwing his arms around both Sinker and Wolffe, drawing them in a tight armed embrace. Even their stoic, closed off commander returns the embrace, threading his fingers into Boost hair and wrapping his hand around Sinker’s neck, drawing them all close until their foreheads touch gently. 

They’re all together, and for all of his fear and self-loathing, Sinker can breath again, because they’re all here together. 

There’s no words spoken amongst them in that moment, just shared pain, shared feelings, love, brotherhood. 

They’re together again. All of them. Even-

“Has anyone checked the General yet?” True to his character, Boost speaks first, lifting his head from the bunch as he turns towards the small medbay. Boost doesn’t waste time in breaking away from the group, confronting the droid to get a full rundown of his injuries. 

Wolffe prepares to leave, but lingers, hand gently squeezing Sinker’s arm. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” He says quietly, mix-matched eyes catching Sinker’s gaze, “It wasn’t any of our faults. Plo won’t blame you, he won’t.” 

Sinker stays silent, though squeezes Wolffe’s hand on his shoulder as a sign of gratitude. Yet when Wolffe leaves to go see the General, Sinker does not follow. 

\--

Cody’s call comes sometime later. And it comes right in the nick-of-time, because three hours floating in space with no knowledge of where to go, what worlds are sympathetic to the Empire and which aren’t, and who’s looking for escaped Jedi is slightly overwhelming. 

Cody’s small hologram appears at the help, dressed in imperial black. Wolffe scrambles to the helm in an attempt to cut him off before he traces them, though Cody beats him to it. 

“Calm down Wolffe, since you’ve escaped with Master Plo, I already assume your chip broke.” Unlike them, Cody is calmer and somewhat more dignified. Sinker’s jealous by how serene he looks. 

“And since you’re asking, I’m assuming yours did too?” Wolffe is hesitant still, finger hovering over the button that would end the transmission.

“Are those more of your brothers, tell them to meet with us at--”    
  
“Obi-Wan, please, I’m not sure if they’re on our side--”

“General Kenobi is there!” Boost is practically bursting at the seams with joy, “If he’s there, then that must mean Cody’s safe.”

As if on queue, Obi-Wan speaks again still out of sight, “Cody, trust me. They’re good. I can sense them from here. They’ve also got Master Plo with them, I can sense him too.”

“Guess you owe Rex money, huh Cody?” Wolffe adds on, flashing a toothy grin at his brother, “figured we all should have listened to him, and Fives.”

Whatever hesitance Cody bore towards the three clones melts at the mention of their fallen brothers. 

“Well, I was always one for the books, wasn’t I?” Cody says sadly, then switches to his typical ‘Commander Voice’, “Listen. You’re not the only ones who remembered who we were. There’s more, and your chips were destroyed on purpose. Currently those of us who want to be out of all of this, out of everything, our heading to the Nihia system. It’s full of neutral planets--the Empire looked over the system due to its lack of resources and strategic necessity. It’s also in Wild Space. I’ll send you the coordinates, and you guys can come stay with us.”

“We can catch up when you get here, but saying more than necessary isn’t safe, not when you’re still in Imperial space,” Cody speaks, though his eyes soften when he looks at Wolffe, “But gods, am I glad to see you all alive and well.”

\---

When they touch down, Sinker thinks this planet is anything but resourceless. It’s beautiful, full of forest, exoctic plants, and large bodies of water. Around them, natives from the planet help various clones unpack and unload their supplies, showing them around and to areas where they can live. They got a crash course upon first landing on the planet, told to them in bits and pieces by an incredibly enthusiastic clone. They’d contacted the Nihia system during the Clone Wars, and it had been marked as an area where the clone army would desert should things turn against their favor after the war ended. Apparently, the de facto “Clone Deserter Committee” had managed to keep into contact with the Nihia system and their king since the Empire had taken over, and thus had been available for escaped clones when their chips were suddenly broken. 

This is a Utopia. And according the the enthusiastic clone, no brother will ever have to fight if he doesn’t want to. 

Sinker is glad. Ecstatic, even. His brothers will be safe, and as they wheel the general of of the ship and into the official hospital they’ve set up, Sinker know’s he’ll be safe too. Wolffe most likely will never fight again. For all his tactical genius and skill with his blaster, his Commander has and always will be a pacifist. He wanted to settle down quietly with Plo, if given the chance. And now he has it. 

Boost will do whatever Wolffe does. That man has been glued to the commander’s side since Kamino, an annoying, clingy little brother. But brother nonetheless. And Plo was always bad about overlooking Boost’s clingy habits. 

Sinker watches as they follow the general, occasionally interacting with other stray members of the Wolfpack.

He doesn’t follow though, and part of him fights the urge to run back to the ship. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong anywhere near the general. Not with what he’s done with him, not with how he’s hurt him. He needs to go away, far, far away. 

“You alright there, Sinker?” To his side, dressed in his blacks and faded blue striped armour is none other than Captain Rex himself. 

Sinker can’t stop himself from running into Rex, and throwing his arms around him just as Boost did he and Wolffe. He’s brought back to his time temporarily under General Skywalker’s command, when he and the Torrent Company would take missions together with one another. Ever since the Malevolence, the general had fought tooth and nail for the 104th to be removed from the frontlines. Wolffe took the reassignment with relief, but Boost & Sinker still craved a good fight. Volunteering for the 501st usually gave him the rush he needed, and more. 

Alongside that, he’d formed a deep friendship with Rex on the battlefield. 

“I didn’t know you were here!” Sinker cries through his embrace, “Cody didn’t mention you.”

“He’s a little sour about, well everything.” Rex rubs the back of Sinker’s head, “It wasn’t easy for him, you know. When he came to, the first thing he did was try to reach me. Then General Kenobi. It took him a couple of years, but he found us. Eventually he worked as an inside man, and was able to deactivate the chips. All the while he, I and a few others were working to find a place to relocate to when we saved all of you guys.”

Sinker pulled away, eyes wide and shone with tears, “Cody did all of this? Cody?!”

“Yep.” Rex smiles, “can you believe it?”

“And the Nihians? They don’t mind us here?” Sinker is slightly hesitant as he looks behind Rex, taking note of the blue and purple aliens that direct the clones and their counterparts to their appropriate places. Not everyone was sympathetic of clones, certainly not the inhabitants of the various planets they’d been stationed on. 

“Nope, we helped the King during the clone wars, General Skywalker and I. While we were on his planet, I talked to him about being a clone. Nothing too serious but he did his research afterwards. When we left we stayed in touch, and started talking a bit more. Before I knew it, I had a system of 81 planets that our brothers could live on. Then the war happened, and well, you know how it goes.”

Sinker is all smiles now, letting himself revel in joy. 

“How did  _ you  _ wrap a King around your finger, Rex?” 

“It’s a long story, but I don’t have the time now.” He doesn’t miss the ever so slight blush that shines dimly under Rex’s beard, “But I don’t have time for it now. Besides, I need to get back to the frontlines.”

“Wait? What do you mean?” Sinker looks perplexed. Part of him is weary. Are the Nihian’s making them fight? Is this not the Utopia they thought--

“The Rebellion. The fight against the Empire.” Rex spoke, immediately sensing his brother’s concern, “you don’t have to come with me! It’s not a mandatory thing, certainly not for us clones. But for those of us who do want to fight, we’re always recruiting. Don’t expect it to be anything like the Clone Wars though. More freedom, less structure. There’s still some Jedi, though.” 

“How many clones actually fight in the Rebellion?”

“Not many, and I don’t blame them. In the Nihia system we’re free, we don’t have to fight anymore. But I’d rather be on the battlefield again then here. I was created for it at the end of the day, anyway. I just get to define the terms now.``

“Is Cody a rebel too?”

“He was, but after he deprogramed the chips, he deserted the Empire and hasn’t fought since. General Kenobi does that now. He’s a hell of a rebel if you ask me. Nothing like how he used to be. But he comes back to stay with Cody. If anything, Cody just helps guide clones back here to safety.”

It’s as if in that moment, an epiphany reigns down on Sinker. He looks over Rex’s shoulder again, eyes trailing behind Wolffe, watching as he and Boost walk into the hospital. 

Then he looks beyond. 

There’s so much land. So many resources. So much space, and this is just one planet. His brothers...his brothers will be safe, they’ll be okay. And that’s what makes his decision easier. 

“Have room for another rebel?” He swallows down the dryness in his throat, the hesitation in his gut that tells him he’s making a mistake. But everytime he thinks of staying, he thinks of his general. Sinker can’t. He really can’t. 

“Always.” Rex smiles, though reluctant, “but what about Wolffe? Boost? And General Plo. Don’t you want--” 

“Rex, please.” He says, barely above a whisper. His voice shakes just slightly, and he’s sure his eyes are glazed with unshed tears, “I want to go with you.” 

Rex sighs, and places a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder, “I get it. Let’s go.” 

Within ten minutes, they board a vessel. Sinker doesn’t say goodbye. He will later. But not now, he just needs to go. 

And silently on Sinker’s side, calling out to the original owner himself, hangs Plo’s lightsaber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks XD I hope you liked it. Just like the ending of Bly Manor, everyone ended up seperate. :,)
> 
> I'm so glad to be finished with it, because i'm not good at multichapter fics, hence why it's only two. Could you sense the small Codywan? And other ships? Lmao tell me what you think. Also talk to me on tumblr! Thanks a bunch to those of you who read through, and enjoyed it! It made the fic worth writing!
> 
> There may be a one chapter sequel, there MAY be. But no promises.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it. The title was definitely taken from Haunting of Bly Manor, because I think it matches this group so perfectly. Again, visit me on tumblr, let me know what you think, and don't forget to leave kudos!


End file.
